I was born in New York City in 1973. Dad was the head of the Creative Writing Program at Boston University, so instead of Mother Goose, I was put to bed at night to stories of Casablanca, Homicide: Life on the Street, and Tell Me You Love Me. Dad was a Yankees fan then, so of course I rooted for the Red Sox. But the Red Sox kept on losing, so we had to find other things to fight about. We did.

And when it came time to go to college, I picked the farthest Ivy League one from home I could find. Yale in the 1990s: Republicans, suicides, etc. This, of course, drove him right up the wall, which I suppose was the point. Officially my major was American Studies, but really it was the Nineties. I surfed the World Wide Web, I watched Friends, I tried to like Nirvana’s music.

On November 25, 2002, Larry Lucchino hired me to work under him. At the end of the 2002 season, Lucchino appointed me to replace interim GM Mike Port. I got guys like David Ortiz, Kevin Millar, and Curt Schilling, and in 2004, during my first tenure as Red Sox GM, the Red Sox won their first World Series Championship since 1918. Three years later, wouldn’t you know it? We won it again.

Later on I met Marie. The only thing we had in common was that she volunteered for Horizons for Homeless Children, and I had once heard of a homeless child. On January 1, 2007, we got married on Red Sox owner John Henry’s yacht in Saint Thomas.

On December 12, 2007, little Jack came along.

On October 21, 2011, I resigned from my job in Boston to become President of Baseball Operations for the Chicago Cubs.

But until I heard The Voice, I’d never done a crazy thing in my whole life.

DISSOLVE TO

WRIGLEY FIELD – DUSK

It is dusk on a spring evening. The sky is a robin’s-egg blue, and the wind is soft as a day-old chick. Theo Epstein is raking the infield when a voice — like that of a public address announcer — speaks to him.

THE VOICE
If you sign him, you are dumb.

Theo looks up and around, but sees nothing that could be the source of this sound. All around him are empty stands, and he is alone on the field but for Jed Hoyer. He stands quietly for a few moments, then goes back to work.

THE VOICE
If you sign him, you are dumb.

Theo jerks his head in all directions to see where this voice is coming from, but again, he sees nothing unusual.

THEO
Jed, what was that?

JED
What was what?

THEO
That voice.

JED
What voice?

THEO
Just now. Like an announcement.

JED
I didn’t hear anything.

THEO
Oh.

Theo thinks for a second, then shakes it off, trying to dislodge that thought from his mind, and gets back to work.

THE VOICE
If you sign him, you are dumb.

Again, Theo bolts upright and looks around. Again, he sees nothing.

THEO
Okay, you must’ve heard that.

JED
Sorry. Come on. Dinner.

Theo looks all around him, but there is no one there. He puts down his rake and walks toward the clubhouse.

INT. CLUBHOUSE

Theo enters, looks at his Jed skeptically and joins him at the buffet table.

THEO
Was there like a fire truck across the street, or something?

JED
Nope.

THEO
Kids banging on those plastic paint buckets?

JED
Nope. You really hearing voices?

THEO
Just one.

JED
Ah. God?

THEO
More like a…ballpark announcer.

JED
What’d it say?

THEO
“If you sign him, you are dumb.”

JED
If you sign whom, why are you dumb?

THEO
He didn’t say.

JED
Ooh, I hate it when that happens.

THEO
Me too.

INT. CLUBHOUSE – THE NEXT NIGHT

Theo and Jed are eating dinner. Theo seems lost in thought.

JED
Hey, you don’t suppose this could be like an acid flashback, do you?

THEO
I never took acid.

JED
Maybe you will someday, and it’s a flash forward.

THEO
Jed, there’s more.

JED
You’re subscribing to the Enquirer.

THEO
I think I know what “If you sign him, you are dumb” means.

JED
Oooh, why do I not think this is a good thing?

THEO
I think it means if I sign Adam Greenberg and give him a spot on the 40-man roster, he will get to come back and play ball again.

JED
You’re kidding.

THEO
Uh uh.

Jed whistles.

THEO
Yeah.

INT. DALE SVEUM’S BEDROOM – NIGHT

Theo and Jed are putting Dale Sveum to bed.

JED
Boy, I thought my family was crazy, but this…this is the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.

THEO
I know. It’s totally nuts.

JED
I mean- Adam Greenberg- His career’s-

THEO
(nods)
Died in ’05.

JED
And he’s the one that got drilled in the head, right?

THEO
Right.

JED
He still suck?

THEO
Far as I know. Did you know he copied Fred Van Dusen’s swing?

JED
If I did, I’d forgotten it.

THEO
I always felt cheated I never got to see him play. He was supposed to be so graceful, and agile, and he was supposed to be able to avoid fastballs to the back of his head. So to actually get to see him play again…to let him play again, to right an old wrong…

JED
Wait a minute, Bosco. Are you actually thinking of doing this?

THEO
No. I mean, I can’t think of one good reason why I should, but…I’m thirty-eight years old, I have a wife, a child, and a mortgage, and I’m scared to death I’m turning into my father.

JED
What’s your father got to do with this?

THEO
I never forgave him for getting old. By the time he was as old as I am now, he was ancient. He must have had dreams, but he never did anything about them. For all I know, he may have even heard voices, too, but he sure didn’t listen to them. The man never did one spontaneous thing in all the years I knew him. Jed, I’m scared that that’s what growing up means. I’m afraid of that happening to me. And something tells me this may be my last chance to do something about it. I want to sign that useless twerp. Do you think I’m crazy?

JED
Yes. I also think that if you feel you really have to do this, then you should do it.

Theo nods.

JED
But you should also probably realize that this isn’t like it used to be. We don’t have useless players on the 40-man roster. In fact, since Kerry Wood retired, we can’t afford to waste a roster spot on a feel-good story just to appeal to a bunch of dopes who don’t understand the complexities of managing a Major League roster.